


Of swords

by Illidria



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Witcher AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25202125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illidria/pseuds/Illidria
Summary: His voice sharp, but not unpleasant. Jabs made out to feel more like a battle of wits to those around them, though she knew a challenge when presented with one.“If your standard is gear, you may have looked too fleetingly at my armour and swords, as well as my horse. Scabbards hide sharp blades, dust hides durability. And a horses sharp bite may mask that its kick is even stronger.”An utterly self-indulgent take on how some characters from Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood would fare in the world of the Witcher. A (soon to be) collection of several stories that, albeit connected, can stand on its own.
Relationships: Miles/Scar's Brother (Fullmetal Alchemist), Olivier Mira Armstrong/Scar
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. The Lion of Woehen, Chapter 1 of 2: Tales & Tails

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DayandKnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayandKnight/gifts).



> A collection of one- and twoshot, at least soon. Please keep an eye on extra-warnings for chapters.

The sliver of annoyance within her grew with each word spoken to her.

Not that the company was unwanted, it was a good distraction at least, yet that did not lessen the stranger’s idiocy. Rambling on about something or other, gossip most of it surely, so oblivious that it almost hurt. The other patrons in the dingy bar only ever daring to glance sideways at her, if even, having seen the glaring truth as soon as she’d pushed back her hood.

Not answering, taking a swig of her beer in silence, she looked around. Not even pretending to truly listen, not trying to answer either. If someone was that tone-deaf, she let them. All needed concentration instead put towards her goal, sharpening her ears and sense of smell.

Was listening all evening, this southern village sleepy in a way, the people guarded. Quickly some had caught on though, seeing the swords strapped to her horses’ saddle, the armour, the lack of emblems except for the medallion around her neck. Her sitting down in the tavern, hood pushed back, was simply the last straw for the idiots.

Well, except this one.

“Have you ever heard,” silence befell the man in front of her, looking surprised almost at her sudden words, “about the lion in the temple ruin? The one the Lordship doesn’t want killed?”

A leatherworker maybe, or an armour smith. Though not a very dedicated one, judging by how faint the smell was. Strong alcohol was prevalent also, bread and beer, clinging to his skin and giving off an underlying smell of rot. Not that she had any interest in his hut, but now she was sure that she could pick it out between all the houses in this village. Even if the wind blew away from her.

Gaping at her with an open mouth still, the smell of frying bacon reaching her nose, though a quick look confirmed that it came from the hearth. It had to be a wealthy village, for this place to serve such, not just game roasted over the pit.

“Womenfolk shouldn’t worry about such things I say, evil things like that. Saw that thing, from far away. Shouldn’t have seen it either, shouldn’t have to worry.”

Interest piqued she narrowed her eyes, for now ignoring the vibration of the medallion around her neck. She already knew why after all, or rather who was the cause of it.

“You saw the beast? Can you describe it?”

Leaned back a bit, took the man in more, the unfocused eyes, the greyish skin. Cursed beasts were not only dangerous for your life if you got too close, prone to hunting and eating townsfolk. Their sight was also known to be highly detrimental for a normal person’s mental health, the shock and fear of such often making people unhinged, especially when paired with superstitions and a lack of education. Having them turn to alcohol, gambling, or religion.

The man in front of her, maybe thirty, or thirty-five, winters old, looking sickly, gaunt face paired with a budding potbelly speaking of a body and mind deteriorating.

“Huge, far bigger than a lioness or even a lion should be. Thrice the size, maybe more. Red eyes, red like blood. Fur was pure white. Would be a beautiful pelt to work with lad, beautiful. And so much of it…”

Saw in bloodshot eyes that the man already was far away, waited patiently. There wasn’t more coming though, the owner of the tavern coming up, clapping the man on the back and pulling him out of his memories. Knocked on the table as farewell when he left her, looked at her truly for the first time it seemed.

She almost thought it ironic that her eyes, yellow like a wolf’s would be, freaked him out just as much as a lion with red eyes did.

The tavern-owner stayed behind for a moment. A mountain of a man, looking strong enough to lift a bull. Hesitated, though not out of fear it seemed. She gave him several moments, just wanted to ask him what the matter was, if she maybe should leave, when he finally spoke. The whole tavern hanging on his every word.

“Miss She-Witche… Miss Witchtre…”

“Just Witcher, good man, nothing more is needed.”

A nod at his indecision, the burly man now seeming much surer.

“Witcher, I beg you not to be angered by Radloffs reaction to you, he is… troubled. Since seeing the Lion of Woehen Radloff wasn’t the same as before.”

She took another swig of her beer, listened patiently to the man now in front of her, calmly let the emotions of the townsfolk swirl around her. They seemed calm also, if a bit worried. Knew though, how quickly tankards could be exchanged for pitchforks, kept her guard up.

“I can assure you that I am not, though I must admit that I have questions. Would you be able to answer some of them?”

A nod, a wave towards a girl walking around the tavern, and the owner sat down opposite of her, where just moments ago the oblivious Radloff had sat.

“I am Sigmund, Witcher, born here and likely going to die here. I will answer to the best of my ability.”

A woman of the townsfolk, to her far right, spoke up with worry in her voice.

“Sig, do not go against the Lordship! If Lord Gardner hears that you helped a Witcher with a slaying _he_ has forbidden…”

Again she stayed calm, it was the only way to get the information she wanted. Spoke loud and clear, the whole tavern listening in anyways.

“There is no contract I have taken, so there is no need to worry about the Lordship being involved. I ask out of curiosity, nothing more. A cursed beast is usually known far and wide around its home, but of this lion I have not heard until arriving here, being told by a merchant a village over to not go near the tower’s ruin on the hill. And that is, in my experience, quite curious. Especially so, as lions are not native to this region.”

The girl Sigmund had waved to brought her another beer, put one in front of her employer also, hurrying along to bring all the thirsty people listening to them more too. Whatever the outcome of this conversation she mused, the man in front of her would run a nice profit either way. The innkeeper after a few gulps dragging the back of his hand over his beard, to little avail spreading the beers foam more than swiping it away.

“You must know and have heard a lot Witcher, with how far you likely travelled. But the lion of Woehen is not well known further away, because it isn’t known to hunt anywhere but its ruin and the field close to it. Most even would say that it is just a normal lion, a freak of nature, but still just a lion.”

Murmuring among the townsfolk.

“Is Radloffs tale exaggerated then?”

More whispers, more murmuring and heads shaking.

“I’ve seen it myself Witcher, from much further away but with my own eyes. Radloff is telling the truth. And he knows to estimate the size of an animal, knows averages and such. He learned to tan and leatherwork in Novigrad, could tell from seeing a calf how much leather it would get you when grown.”

“An impressive ability no doubt. But if it is true, if what you good people say is right, then this lion would be much more than a freak of nature. Does it not have a pride? Does it really not stray from the ruins?”

A man at the table next to them, having already listened in when she was still sitting with Radloffs one-sided talking, spoke up.

“Ma’am, my son was born the winter the Lion of Woehen was first seen, mere weeks before we found Ada’s Anna torn to shreds in the field by the ruin. It’ll be his seventh winter, and never have we ever heard of another lion even being seen since he was born. Not even from the drunkards, Ma’am.”

Let that sink in, thought for a moment.

“How far from the ruins does it hunt?”

Sigmund and a few others throwing back and forth words and numbers, comparing whom they’d found where, who’d seen what. The townsfolk coming to a decision.

“About ten klafter, maybe eleven at the most. It’s never far from the walls. When we see it, then on the walls, or through the gate from a distance.”

Wanted to say that it couldn’t be a normal lion then, that it would’ve starved to death already. Wanted to ask why the Lordship never let anyone hunt it, wanted to know more, when the door to the tavern opened. Quietly, but in the concentrated silence of an afternoon’s entertainment seeming like a bang.

Everybody turned away, except for Sigmund, who took a nervous sip of his beer.

“Who’s the owner of the blue roan outside, with the black saddle?”

A guard standing in the door, not even seeming overly angry or agitated, but his colours seemingly enough to put the people on edge. The crest showing the unicorn and lily of Lord Gardner, both white on black ground.

She emptied her beer and looked the guard in the eye.

“That would be me. Is the beast picking a fight again?”

Her joke went unappreciated, maybe she needed to sound less serious.

“I was sent by the honoured guests of the Lordship Gardner, who want to talk to you, should you truly be a Witcher.”

Stood, put some coins on the table and took the leather saddlebag in which her swords lay in her hand. Walked towards the guard, there being no question what she was, everything clear enough for anybody with eyes.

Before she could step out though, the tavern owner turned towards her once more.

“Before you leave, Witcher, may we know your name?”

To slander her name in case of death or to murmur to the next unfortunate soul that would ride through these lands she did not know, nor did she care. Instead pushed her shoulders back a hint more, turning to the man called Sigmund.

“My name is Olivier of Cidaris, good man.”

Stepped outside with the guard, breathing in the cool air of the night. And while Olivier still thought how she would’ve liked another beer, or to eat something, she untied her horse.

Which now tried its hardest to not look like it had tried to bite the guards’ horse viciously just moments ago.

* * *

“I must apologize for stealing your time, mercenary, I…”

Sat on a cushion, straight like the rod her master had turned her back into, watching attentively as the man next to the Prince leaned down, whispering.

Was to a certain degree impressed, Lord Gardner’s castle cold and quite unwelcoming, hallways narrow and oppressive, turned into a colourful and warm space where the Prince of the desert dwelled as the Lords honoured guest. She’d been offered food during her wait, rice served with goats’ meat, swimming in a rich and spicy sauce of red. Was offered water and rosewater afterwards, was then handed a cloth wet and warm, wiping her face without instruction.

Many years the Korath desert had been thought uninhabited, the few people you saw on its outskirts seeming like wanderers, those ostracized from society. Bandits and deserters and the like, those that the Kings, Queens and Lords did not care for. Until a people emerged, trading, all kingdoms close soon confronted with the Korath desert belonging to these people. Ishbal, Ishval, Ishvaria, many names were given this new land, nobody getting the natives pronunciation quite right.

Magic was suspected to be the reason the country stayed hidden for so long, yet it was soon a contender for the nobles’ affections. Silk and spices, warriors, and mercenaries, all of that and more was wanted, political marriages soon surfacing, people mingling. Nobody able to just take this land for themselves, the desert always killing those that wanted the blood of its people.

The Prince looking at her differently now, inclining his head in a bow.

“I must apologize, Witcher. I have been brought up in the believe that your guilds members are only ever male.”

His eyes red, boring into hers, glasses or not. Hair white, undersides shorn, nose sharp and gaze intelligent. No king of the lands she was born into would ever apologize. Yet, she’d been a small child when the first Ishvalans spilled into the surrounding lands, many decades ago. Olivier had time to learn and get used to things.

“It is unusual, as such there is reason for confusion.”

Could not let go though, of the habit to just not ask what a Nobleman wanted from her, too many would react badly to that her master had warned. Waited instead, with patience as she was looked up and down once more. By the Prince and the mage by his side that was, emblem, clothing and posture making sure that she knew that the man was a part of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers. Like she didn’t know him already.

“I would love to learn more about that Witcher, but as you can guess I have a question to ask of you, a task maybe too, richly rewarded, if your answers can point to a possible solution. First though, as is custom, I ask your name.”

Inclined her head like he did, closing her eyes. Felt some of her hair caress along her cheek, heard it rustle over her armours shoulder-pad. With sharp ears listened for the singing of a blade, the pull of a string, the murmur of a spell. When hearing nothing speaking into the silence.

“My name is Olivier of Cidaris, daughter of the School of the Wolf.”

The Prince did not hesitate like she did.

“And my name is Prince Akeem of Ishval, the first born to Queen Haleema and the one to follow.”

A nod exchanged, before the Prince visibly relaxed on his own cushions, smile brilliant.

“Well with these formalities out of the way and my aides telling me that you’ve been fed and given something to drink, I shall get right to why I had you called to me, shouldn’t I?”

She blinked slowly. Had been up and close with royalty in her life, but not ever had she seen someone sit back like that in front of a stranger this quickly. Not a Prince, at least. And looking at her expectantly too, like it was now her turn to say something.

She’d have to tell her master to branch out the training, that foreign nobility demanded more than silence it seemed.

“I cannot deny that my interest is piqued in what you need a Witcher for, Prince Akeem, though I feel that I must caution you. We are not assassins for hire, nor is our guild one to pick sides in political conflicts. We are neutral.”

The mage in the back snorted after her last words. The Prince calm, turning slightly.

“Yes Miles?”

By the gods how she hated the smug expression on a mages face when they talked about her guild. And she hated it especially on this mages face.

“The neutrality my Prince, often claimed by Witchers of all schools, is just that: a claim. Plenty have taken sides before, just as much have gone back on their words. Gold buys their services, yes, but it wouldn’t be the first time that more gold would change a Witcher’s alliance just like it would with a common mercenary.”

Regulated her breathing to remain calm, did not let her face become anything but neutral. It was her one unfair advantage the other Witchers always told her, that she had the pleasant face of a woman, so much more trustworthy than theirs. Her expressions so much more unlikely to be read as angry or aggressive. Even though they most often were.

“What you are getting at may be true for a sad few, but not for me. I fulfil my contracts and I do not go back on my word. I do not turn to the other side of a conflict either, because I do not choose a side.”

She saw the mages mouth open, already knew that there would come a retort towards words being said easily, or some such nonsense. Nipped it right away, this discussion in front of a possible contractor unnecessary and bad for business.

“ _What_ I do, is choose my contracts very carefully. And as such, I would very much like to know, Prince Akeem, what you need a Witcher for.”

Inclined her head just a little, the mage named Miles pursing his lips a little, though the Prince, having looked back and forth between them during their verbal match seemed simply amused.

“Well then, Olivier of Cidaris, at first I only want to ask you a question, or rather several. The knowledge of Witchers about many things, especially when it comes to monsters and curses, is incredibly detailed, I heard. And monsters and curses and cursed monsters is just what I need to learn about.”

She sat up straighter, listening closely when the Prince explained.

* * *

“A fascinating horse.”

Her beast chewing on his bit, foam at his mouth, clearly not happy with how she held him short. Prince Akeem riding next to her clearly thinking of it as rather amusing though, something he tended to be with a lot of things.

“I wonder, does he show the same ferocity when you are in battle with a monster? Or does he only fight with other horses?”

“He’ll bite anything that stands still long enough and anything he perceives as a threat when it moves. Which does include me at times, much to my dismay.”

Villagers were looking up when they rode past, a few faces recognised by her, belonging to people she’d seen at the tavern the night before, people who’d listened when the tavern owner Sigmund had told her what he knew about the Lion of Woehen. Almost felt amused herself, a mere two hours later having learned so much more about this creature, much more than the villagers had been able to gather in seven years of living in its presence.

“Truly a fascinating animal. Did you choose him, or is it the case of a horse having grown on one?”

The ruin was already to be seen in the distance, looming almost, though Olivier knew that this feeling was coming from knowing so much more about it know, a story attached to the watchtower decaying in the distance. And she also understood that the Prince’s chattiness was born from fear, or at least anticipation.

“He was chosen with limited funds; I might call it. He’s a good horse for battle and travelling, does not get nervous easily. And his behavioural issues, while bothersome when stabling him for longer stays, are an asset in dire situations.”

Behind them the mage was riding, Miles. She’d picked up on the connection between the Prince and him, knew that there was telepathy involved, that they were talking constantly. That he didn’t like her, did not trust her, mutual feeling as it was. Which would not have her care much, though from what she suspected, his approval would be needed too, for her to get this contract.

Because even if it failed, the rate that had been dropped last night would get her over the winter comfortably. And the still approaching summer before it too.

“So you are not a remarkably successful Witcher, I gather? I have met a few in my time and while not rich, they always had good gear, which included good horses.”

His voice sharp, but not unpleasant. Jabs made out to feel more like a battle of wits to those around them, though she knew a challenge when presented with one.

“If your standard is gear, you may have looked too fleetingly at my armour and swords, as well as my horse. Scabbards hide sharp blades, dust hides durability. And a horses sharp bite may mask that its kick is even stronger.”

Did not smirk, did not show anything but a neutrality, though could see the slightest of frowns on the mages face, the faintest of smiles on the Princes. Who was probably getting a mindful right now.

Did not bother herself with their connection anymore, instead set her eyes on the road, the ever-nearing ruin.

High walls, thick, though the gates had been pulled from the hinges a long time ago. Wooden planks probably repurposed; the iron most surely molten into something more useful now. The ruin a small Fort at its core, a watchtower in it’s middle that had mostly crumbled into itself, only in parts still standing. Stones had been stolen away on every edge, the coping irregular. There would most probably a yard in the middle, more like a patch of dirt now, every wooden building most surely scavenged for anything useful.

Olivier could only hope that if she took this contract there was some shelter to be found in these ruins.

“There!”

The voice that of Price Akeem, the jovial tone with the slight commanding edge of royalty gone, sounding so different when not carefully regulated, a finger pointing to where once the gate had been.

She’d never seen a lion this big. Could count the times she’d seen lions on one hand also, which gave little credit to her measurement, but still she was sure that a lion was not supposed to stand taller than her horse. Nor should its paws be as big as a knight’s face. The white pelt too, pure and almost blinding, struck the eye and stuck out to how she knew lions to look.

With the red eyes boring into them, the scar straight across the lion’s face, Olivier could understand a man going mad.

The Prince next to her was staring quietly, the mage having ridden up to his other side, speaking lowly. She though pressed her legs to her horse’s sides and pushed through the guards in front of them, her beast helping with a healthy dose of biting left and right.

Someone said something about not getting too close, but she’d talked to the people of the nearby village, could trust their measurements. If the people living near a cursed creature knew anything, it was how close you could get to it without dying.

Her beast rearing its head, far away and still showing its willingness to bite, while the lion just stood there, regal and formidable. Had turned its head towards her when she’d gotten closer, was seizing her up it seemed.

Olivier knew that she’d get no answer, that her words were almost childlike, but she said what was on her mind anyways. It wasn’t like Prince Akeem’s men could hear her.

“If any creature I’ve ever seen is a cursed prince, then you.”

At which the lion, regal and striking and, though she locked that thought well-away lest that mage read it, _beautiful_ , shook out his mane and trotted back behind the walls.

Only when they were halfway back at the castle, her stare down with the lion, it’s reaction, enough to make up her mind, Prince Akeem spoke again.

“What do you say, is it possible? Will you try it?”

Seven years ago, give or take a few months, Prince Akeem’s brother had been turned into a lion. Olivier suspected a long-time curse, the kind that only affected one slowly. At least one moon cycle, timed with full-moons too, judging by the purity of the lion’s fur. It would take time to unwind, she’d need to prepare. At least a month she’d have to stay in the perimeters of the curse, the localized bubble of lingering magic having send her amulet into overdrive when near.

And at the end of the month, of mimicking the cursing to unwind it, to provoke the chaos, she’d have to make a blood sacrifice. It would need to be figured out; much was to be thought about. The next full moon was five days away, it had to be enough time to prepare.

“I can not promise anything Prince Akeem, not anything. But if we can decide on and prepare a few things, then I will try.”


	2. The Lion of Woehen, Chapter 2 of 2: A Lion's Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was too long for one chapter *shrugs*

Of course the strange-smelling thing picked the one piece of wall he had never been able to climb.

Was training with one of the swords, the one that made his skin crawl when he got near it. Was vaulting from stones to wooden beams sticking out of the walls with ease. Turned, sword in her hand whirling, a blur of silver. Steps light, a slight fear running through him at the sight, instincts surging. Instead of running looked some more.

He’d recognised his brother from afar, how could he have not? The white hair, the striking red eyes, the kindness in the way he held himself. _Akeem_ something in the back of his mind had repeated over and over, the voice that wouldn’t let him forget things. Kind of understood that this strange-smelling woman was here to help him, to free him maybe of this powerful prison, or to slay him if she dared.

He did not know.

Did not care, if he wanted to be truthful, because one thing had always remained in his mind: The will to live. When someone attacked, intruded, he fought. And had always won too. No sword making his skin crawl, no bolt fired from a distance, had as of yet been able to change that.

Her gaze was piercing once she pulled the blindfold off.

Eyes like his own, iris yellowish instead of red and pupils working with the brightness of the sun. Intense he thought, intense like he imagined a lion’s eyes to be, his own. It had not translated in the puddles, studying his reflection years ago.

Nowadays he didn’t look.

“You’ll still try to eat me if I get down?”

Lounged in the sun of the courtyard, not letting her escape his gaze.

Snipping his teeth one, loudly, at which she made a face.

“Asshole.”

* * *

“Want some?”

Let herself dry in the sun, one of her blankets loosely wrapped around her and the deer roasting above the fire of her little wall-camp.

The Lion of Woehen, the cursed Prince now looking at her again, during the rain only once poking his head out. She guessed it was the smell that pulled at him, the game surely going to taste divine, especially compared to her plentiful yet non-perishable rations.

The way he’d roared when this morning she first shot the deer with her bow and then reeled it in by the rope attached to the arrow, quicker than he could catch it, had sent a shiver down her spine.

“I’d be willing to share if I get something in return. Not being eaten would be nice for example.”

Smart eyes on her, the mind inside the lion’s body, human if possibly warped by the time imprisoned, clearly thinking about her proposal. She had the means to hunt outside of the perimeter, even if not by much. To diversify his diet, something he couldn’t do with most local animals having grown smart over the years.

Was still struck with the power the cursed Prince radiated like this, the massive head, the proud mane. Eyes following her, a thin scar running over the right eye, slanted strongly, starting on the top left side of the lion’s face. It must’ve been a grisly, deep wound once, but now added only to the power emitted.

Huff also powerful when the lion lay down on the almost-dry courtyard, with a face she could only describe as sour, seemingly conceding to her offer.

“Master will not fucking believe me when I tell him that.”

Mumbled under her breath, unwrapped herself from the blanket and hung it up on a post to dry out too. Searched for her clothes, stowed away in her little tent so they stayed dry, while she took the impetuous shower on the wall.

Neither cared about the gazes on her from far away, her presence in the ruin well-known. The possibility of her washing up in the rain naked while standing on the wall would surely soon spread through all young men in the village.

Wiggled into her thick leather pants, stuffed the hem of her linen shirt into them. Did not care for lacing it up fully, instead properly put on her boots, footing the most important thing to have. Threw her swords down the wall before grabbing the sticks with the meat, just to be sure should the cursed Prince be the kind to break a deal.

“I wager for not getting to eat me you want the biggest piece?”

Jumped down, stuck the stick in the ground between them and stepped back quickly. Would not deny that she felt uneasy when the lion jumped towards the meat, mighty paws breaking the stick and pressing it into the ground, teeth longer than her fingers ripping into it. Did not let her guard down, kept her distance. Leaned against the wall while eating her own portion, swords behind her should the cursed prince decide that his share wasn’t enough.

Was ready, when he was done several minutes later, eyeing her still, warily. When he stood up, walked over to her with levelled steps, head reared high. Could have just opened his mouth and crushed her head, the sniffing loud in her ears, the smell and warmth emitted almost overwhelming.

Instead of being eaten the lion just huffed. Turned around, walked away, searching for the sunniest spot of the courtyard, and lying down.

Olivier could deal with that.

* * *

The boot kicking his nose hurt, had him roar.

Cut that short, when he felt her coming from the right, side-stepping, and trying to catch her feet with a strike of his paw. Was not successful, fleet-footed as his opponent was, but did not let that deter him. Instead moved quickly, twisted and turned, until he anticipated right and managed to disturb her balance.

It only was for a moment, a quick jump and the weight of the sword in her hand used to re-balance, but her squinted eyes were worth the effort.

“You’re sneaky!”

Shook out his mane, not giving her too much time to grow complacent. Pounced once more, trying it from the right this time, the extortion in his muscles when stopping abruptly to strike her with his paw sending a wave of _something_ through him.

It was an emotion from the back of his mind, one of those he couldn’t forget but not really place either.

And it didn’t really matter when she evaded him narrowly, used his head as a steppingstone when getting away from his following flurry of attacks. Sword in its scabbard rattling when he turned on the spot, blocked by it from landing a hit.

Her teeth bared to him were pitiful in comparison to his own.

* * *

“It will hurt, it will be utterly unpleasant even, but I am fairly sure it will work.”

Was mostly prattling to herself, going through the plan again to make sure that she’d not forgotten anything. The lion as always quite unresponsive during her conversation with herself, in the sun and looking at her, but making no sound. She walked up and down the courtyard, dust puffing up beneath her boots.

“Your brother is making sure that there will be enough sacrifices, as there must’ve been when you’ve been cursed. Found evidence of a lion being transported here, which is good. It makes clear just how you were bonded to this form.”

Pointed at him with a flat hand, red gaze boring into her and tail swishing around lazily. He sure loved his sun-bathing, especially after their daily training. _If_ it was that.

“Of course with the number of years gone by we’ll have to up the number of sacrifices, but Prince Akeem is quite keen on getting you back, so I doubt that we’ll be left stranded in that regard. Of course none of this will offset the sensation of your whole body being re-arranged on the smallest level.”

There was no way to gauge for her, how much he truly understood. Lived here with him for two and a half weeks now, spoke with him, of course never getting an answer. Often thought that her words influenced him, that he followed, helped, simply understood her intentions at least. At the same time knew though, that this all being a coincidence was nothing she could rule out.

It spoke for itself, after all, when one was struggling with pulling a slain boar towards their fireplace. Just as the kicks to his nose needed no explanation, especially the first few days on the ground full of him nipping at her heels and the subsequent answer.

Stood before him now, squatted and peered into his eyes.

“I’ll have to make a cut here, “with her finger went over his head, fur soft to the touch, warm, “it is meant to cross out the mark that you were cursed with. It will also help with giving the chaotic energy an out, so that we can prevent curse-wounds appearing all over your body. It’ll translate to your human form, both scars that is, but I’ll be sure to keep my cut shallow.”

The air from his huff warm against her skin, the sun beating down on her neck too.

“Don’t huff at that like you don’t care; I’ve seen your brother! If you look anything like him as a human, it would be a crime to make you unrecognisable. Better to have a set of dashing scars that underline this severe gaze, than to just carelessly cut around!”

Was pushed by him, nose against her thigh and making her wobble squatting like that.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not one for humour, I get it.”

Moved a bit, sat down, and leaned against him without second thought, sinking a little into his mane. Decided to try this whole sun-bathing thing too because he sure seemed to love doing it. Breathed out, felt heavy, thought a bit more about what she would have to do in not even two weeks’ time.

Waking up with a sun-burn, skin itching and an angry shade of red, Olivier was pretty sure to see amusement in his red gaze.

* * *

Never would he understand, how she could just throw off everything and jump into the cold rain.

Had when the rain started grabbed a little pouch from her gear, stowed away in this old room-turned-den for more than three weeks now. The smell when she opened it one he recognised, name coming to the front of his mind: _soap_.

Remembered more and more of the human-things since she was there, recognising stuff she carried with her, behaviours she showed during night and day. Understood her better too, first her sounds making little sense without the context of her actions. Now his mind registering what she was talking about even when she leaned against him in the sun, unseen and only felt.

Clothes thrown haphazardly around him she stood outside naked, soap at her feet and long fingers fighting with blonde hair. He’d not really realised how much it had to be, always pulled very tightly to her head, only the tail whipping around any indication.

Thought that it was a mane much like his own, though the rain was pushing it down fast.

Watched calmly as she lathered herself up with the soap, dirty rivulets of water sliding down her body. He’d gotten used to her smell over the past weeks, and only slowly understood how intense it had become. Had never watched her like he did now either, when the sight of her like that, vulnerable, made him not think _prey_ anymore.

Scars on her body, claw marks and cuts, a deep pale scar spanning the width of her stomach. A dip on one buttock, almost shaped like a star. The memory of arrows that caused wounds like these making his hairs stand up. He did not look away though, there was nothing more interesting anyways, when she parted her hair and started to wash it out too.

Took her time with that, or maybe it just took that long.

It was when she was done, soap in the little pouch again and bare feet padding back into the den, that her lips had already started to turn blue. Shook herself out a little, smell of lavender this close overwhelming, a flower he hadn’t seen in years. Grabbed one of her numerous thin blankets, patted herself dry, used a comb made of bone to work through her hair. Did not bind it again, when done.

“May I?”

Gesture vague, though he knew what she meant.

Rested against him often, the closeness first strange, though something he now took comfort in. Made himself a bit longer, moved his hind-paws so she could rest half in his mane. Stretched out her legs, lay them alongside his front paws, toes a tinge blue too. She wasn’t warm, but it was still comfortable, touch something he’d almost forgotten completely.

Something he was glad to remember.

* * *

“Stay down, even when you feel yourself changing. Do not try to stand up, just lay there, ok?”

The moon was bright, turned her pale skin even paler, made her seem almost like a ghost in the dark armour. Grumbled as an answer, to show that he understood.

The signs around him arranged in a circle, the smell of the burned flowers biting. Her gloved touch firm when she took a hold of his head, small blade making his hair stand up.

“Try not to squirm.”

Felt every bit how her blade broke skin on the right side of his head, close to his mane, dug through the layers of his skin until ghosting over the skins of his left eye. The pain not intense, the cut shallow, the only discomfort the blood stinging in his eyes.

Closing them, her hand directed him to lie down.

“Remember, stay down. I can hold my own.”

A prickling sensation started almost immediately.

* * *

“There, stop her!”

No embellishments on their clothes, no marks. No colours worn, no signs on their shields. For a moment she wondered why Gardner so desperately wanted this Ishvalan Prince on his lands, unable to leave. On the other hand, there was only one reason for those men to ever do anything: power.

Knocked back the elixir, almost immediately felt the rush in her veins. The world brightening around her a tad more, the men running at her with their weapons drawn seeming slow. Stepping over an outstretched paw, ducking underneath a mace aimed at her face, she angled her silver sword.

They wore thin leather-armour under these non-descript clothes, yet she felt how the blade went through it without trouble, the momentum from her turn enough to cleave through the bones.

Did not look at the parting body, only with a darting eye made sure that the torrent of blood, the first torrent of sacrifice, hit the shivering body of the white lion.

Turned further when another came at her, blade held at a better angle than the others mace. Steel still inferior, though it at least managed a hit, forced her to turn on the spot, to angle her sword. His screaming was drawn out, lasted the rest of the fight, but she couldn’t care less.

Stepped over the convulsing lions’ body, cleaved through an arm and feeling the blood hit her face, evading a spear and with the handle of her sword in retaliation breaking a jaw. Deflected another sword with the mill, the tip of her sword almost brushing the lions when coming at the man in front of her from below.

He dropped, the spilling blood dyeing the white fur crimson.

Ducked when she behind her heard the singing of a blade, turned a quarter and deflected the weapon coming at her back. Pushed forward, wormed the tip of her own towards the big hand, both it and its sword soon on the floor.

It became easier to fight with the lion drawing in on itself.

* * *

The screaming was constant, the pain excruciating.

It had started with the soles of his paws, feeling like the skin was pulled from them. The sensation burning, the short-lived relieve at the skin coming off ending promptly when it was replaced by feeling open and raw. His eyes hazy as they itched, the flurrying forms above him dark against the light of the moon directly above.

Blinked, the burning growing more intense and screwing his eyes shut. Shivered, the pain overtaking his whole body, making him unable to feel details. Wanted to get up, to run, remembered her words. Felt rooted to the floor, too weak to get up and yet knew that he was writhing, cresting. Pain hot-red, blinding, wetness splashing on his body making him flinch.

The force that opened his eyes almost overwhelming, the world different.

More colours, much darker at the same time. A man above him falling back, face a mess and blood splattering on his body. _She_ being there, turning on the spot, another falling while her eyes were just black pools, her veins stark against the pale skin.

Another strike of the shining silver in her hand, reflecting the light of the moon, and her own face was now riddled with dark blood too.

Pain overtaking all thoughts again, teeth feeling like they were pulled _in_ , not out, made him tense incredibly more. Had him screw his eyes shut again, had his fingers, _fingers_ , dig into the dirt below.

The screaming stopped, the constant screaming that wasn’t his own, when another splatter of what could only be blood hit his chest.

He went under, the world went black, when something was pushed against his lips.

* * *

“Hold still.”

Wiped at his face carefully, covered in blood as it was. Tried to get rid of most of it, needed to see the cut she made, so she could treat it. The man moving, fingers and toes twitching, this human body undoubtedly feeling incredibly foreign to him. Mouth opening and closing, the regulated movement speaking was becoming quite clear to her for the first time.

Eyes on hers, red and intense and hazy. Pupils dilated, a normal reaction to the night, to a curse being lifted. To having been a lion.

“It is a scary sight but try to ignore it. You may be happy to hear that it worked?”

Knew that her eyes were dark, it was normal after the elixir she’d taken. Would’ve spared him the sight if she could’ve, waking up from a broken curse was horrifying enough, her master had taught her. Yet, she’d needed to see as much as possible, so nothing would go wrong.

Watched his fingers move a bit more controlled, watched as he shifted. He noted, what she noted too, eyes still on her. She took the pelt around him, the shed hull of his curse and draped it over his middle and groin, then continued to dab the blood off his face.

“Don’t think anything of it, your body is trying to re-regulate your blood-pressure. It’s normal that this happens.”

Pleased when his face was finally good to see, features sharp and gaze still intense. The old scar deep and pale in comparison to his dark skin, the one she’d given him open and slightly bleeding still. With care she placed the prepared leaves on it.

In the distance she heard horses nearing.

* * *

“Did the lordship pressure you?”

He’d been a big and imposing mountain of a man when in his own tavern. Now on the coachman’s seat, turning towards her, he seemed twice as tall.

“No, heard nothing bad towards me or my place from anyone. But if that’s how it is here, with the lordship sending men to kill people…”

Looked forward again, clicking his tongue, while she looked around.

Her horse tethered to the back of the carriage, without saddle or gear. All of that lying next to her, lounging about and quite pleased with the sun falling onto her face from between the leaves. Around them the entourage of Prince Akeem, who was riding coach with his brother, still too wobbly to ride a horse.

Had handed over her charge of the past weeks to his brother, had been readily available for questions during the days following. Until Gardner made it quite clear, in person, that she was not welcome in his lands. Her Master would groan when hearing that she now was banned from three principalities and a whole kingdom.

“What are you going to do? Where are you planning to go?”

She’d easily said yes to travelling with him out of Gardner’s lands, former tavern-owner Sigmund after being offered the safety of the Prince’s entourage having offered her a place between all his worldly belongings. Sure, she’d be quicker on her horse, but also less comfortable.

And finally someone was answering when she spoke.

“I’m thinking north, Redania, or Kaedwen. Or maybe Novigrad.”

A horse with its rider far in front of them waiting, Olivier’s gut-feeling right about this transaction not being over with the gold having found its way into the lining of her boots.

“All good choices, especially for starting over. Another tavern?”

Sigmund had seen the one waiting for her too, there was no doubt. Spoke on though, undeterred.

“Maybe. Was always a good merchant, there’s plenty I learned to do down at my old place. We’ll see, I guess.”

The face of Miles, gaze on her with intent, was set.

“The Prince’s both want you at their hearth this night, for a final conversation before parting ways.”

It didn’t sound like an invitation, but alas; an invitation would’ve given her the possibility to decline.

* * *

“I have already received payment, Prince Akeem, I do not need more. So what is this about?”

Words did not come easily to him and as such this meal had been his brother and the Witcher talking, while he’d eaten in silence. Was ravenous, famished, everything tasting good. Observed, gaze changed so much and especially the ability to smell like before, leaving him feeling stunted, almost.

“I wanted to thank you, personally, once more for what you have done. It took me three years to find out what happened to my brother, four more until I found someone who could present me with a viable course of action. You have done a great service to the royal line of Ishval, but to me personally, also.”

Looking at them, the table, their bowls, it struck him how she was now skirting the pork in her meal but had eaten the boar with glee what felt like a lifetime ago. Was sad that he could not pick up her scent from where he sat, that it was so hard to refill his bowl by himself also.

His brother saw, helped, a word of thanks pressed out through uncooperating lips.

She eyed him speaking, not like Miles, who watched him line an experiment, but like he had eyed her, before.

“It was the right thing to do, Prince Akeem, I am happy that my skill has been of use.”

It was so weird to watch her talk now, to know her so intimately and at the same time somehow not know her at all. Saw the same in her gaze, the ability to read it thankfully not having vanished. The other two talking more, while he ate his third helping, watched.

Only when Akeem stepped out, knowing what he was doing, always knowing, their eyes met again.

“Are you in pain still?”

He swallowed the current bite, could not form enough words to verbalise the constant ache that his body still was. Instead ghosted his hands over the fresh scar on his forehead, leaves sticking to it still.

Reflexes diminished he barely understood how she was in front of him so quick, a finger ghosting along the line on his face.

“Sorry for that, but it was the only way. Is healing well though, tomorrow morning you can pry off the leaves.”

Looked at her this up close, the slope of her sharp nose, the way her brows were slanted. Lips full, face narrow. A touch of elf, he thought. A touch of elf somewhere in her line, far away maybe, having come through in her.

Tried to form words, to force cooperation upon his muscles.

“Th-the last y-you…”

The effort great, his own finger touching his lip hopefully conveying what he wanted to know. That the mystery of the last thing that touched his lips under the full moon, the potion it must’ve been, weighed on him.

She understood, full lips a smile. It wasn’t a lions, but a wolfs.

“Oh, that? I can show you.”

And with that took his finger away, leaning forward. A kiss pressed to his lips with force, sending a shock through him, familiarity. Before he could speak, before he could react in any way, the nearing steps of Akeem coming back had her sit in her seat again, faster than he could comprehend.

When they parted ways the next morning, the Witcher off to find another contract, he started to pester his brother with questions he forced out of his uncooperating mouth.

Akeem had caught on already anyways.


	3. And then I took an arrow to the butt - The story of a scar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it a bit dumb and goofy? Why yes^^

His bite had only suffered a bit when compared to before.

“Hey, getting hungry? Shall I call the servants?”

Her grin a flicker, while he without shame rested his chin on the recently bitten buttock, watching her blue eyes dance with humour. Was turning her head towards him, sprawled on her stomach, golden hair sailing over the expanse of her flesh with the movement.

Whatever he had done right to deserve this, he didn’t know.

“We can do that soon, it’s almost noon. But truly,” circled with his finger around the scar that had started his current biting, “I just wanted to check if someone maybe bit a chunk out of you.”

Loved the dip, truly did, had hardly been able to take his hand off it once they’d finally made it to his rooms. Sure, she had an uncountable number of scars, more impressive at times, some more haunting too. But the one on her left buttock was enticing like no other.

Her voice was raspy still, pride swelling at that.

“That’s no bite you lion, that’s from an arrow. Which I guess you very well know?”

It was rough compared to her skin, shaped like a star with four ends, the kind children drew with coloured chalk on the walls of houses. Deep too, not incredibly so, but still a dent.

“It was an arrow with a grabbing point, short distance and fired with force. Dug itself in more than cutting into the flesh, but the tip was pointed in the middle, not blunt like the grabbing hooks. You have arrows like these. Four weeks before you could ride a horse again?”

She made a face.

“Three, because I had no choice but to travel. Hurt like hell.”

This time he did not bite, but licked over the scar, breathing on it right after. The goosebumps rising were always quite a sight.

“A good story?”

Pale hand reaching for a pillow to put under her head, the dust of red still prominent. Moved with her when she got more comfortable on the sheets, liked how her legs moved against his body with little caution and even less distance.

“If you think a story of two Witchers being kind of bad at their jobs is good, then yes. I know it’s at least funny.”

He couldn’t hide a smile.

“I’d love to hear it!”

“You just want to make fun of me!”

He couldn’t hide his teeth either.

“Maybe.”

Decided then and there that hoarse laughter was the best kind of laughter.

* * *

Dry heaving a little more on her hands and knees, Olivier needed a moment to become fully aware of her surroundings. Found herself glad that the sorceress had the foresight to teleport them into a clearing, no people in sight and the only being seeing her puke, besides said sorceress, a very startled deer.

“I thought the tales to be greatly exaggerated.”

Got on her feet slowly, the world still spinning, but at a pace she could manage. Leaning forward in the next fifteen minutes, or anything other than slow deliberate steps, would just end in another bout. It was hard to focus on the face an arm’s reach away from her.

“Every…,” breathed deeply, “everybody does.”

Pressed the words out, her stomach flipping once more before settling again. The Sorceress looking at her, façade cool, though Olivier could clearly see the swirl of emotions in her eyes.

“Once you are able, we need to hurry. He’ll have started his track into the woods already, we need to catch up.”

With a sip of water rinsed her mouth, with another quenched the thirst that immediately after started to parch her throat. Leaned against a tree, took deep breaths, while the Sorceress paced with her black hair billowing.

“Solaris, even if you say it’s a Leshy, Buccaneer is very experienced, much more than me. While there is always danger, a single…”

The gaze from dark eyes was angry and piercing.

“I would not have asked for your help if it was just a Leshen! I told you already, even if not incredibly detailed, that there’s more going on here! An underlying problem that is too big for this bear-headed Witcher!”

“You know full-well that he was already on his last pimples, when they brought me to Kaer Morhen, right? He was already on the road the first summer of my training, he has slain Leshy’s, Kikimoras, he has Wyvern and Basilisks to his name. Just think of the Three Fiends of Toussaint, they still sing the song made about him everywhere! What can there possibly be, that _I_ can help with?”

Crossed her arms in front of her chest, knew that she was challenging Solaris with her eyes. Almost the same height as her, dress made of black velvet, looking impeccable and wholly out of place in the middle of this forest. Make up and painted nails, dark red lips, making her almost feel naked. The billowing black hair had enticed her when still a young girl, the intimate relation between the big guy and her confusing.

But alas, with how the Sorceress was zeroing in on her she rested in the knowledge that the feelings were at least real.

“Conspiracies, prophecies, curses. You may not be on your own as a Witcher for long, but you have experience, I might even say expertise!” There was a pause, anger making way for bitter undertones, “Also, he values your knowledge, your opinion as a Witcher. _Your_ advice, will be at least considered.”

The command to get moving was silent, as were they during their walk through the woods.”

* * *

Narrowly he evaded the roots shooting up from the ground.

Circled, the Leshy even with Witcher-eyes hard to see in the semi-darkness that the thicket of Hindarsfjall’s forests were. Turned another quarter when finally catching the swift movement to his right, the screech of the beast deafening. It was the answering howl of wolves though, that had the hairs on his neck stand up.

A Leshy was a forest guardian, was in control, to an extent, over the creatures and nature around it. To be attacked from several sides was what one had to expect in a lengthy battle with one of those, that’s what traps and safeguards were for.

Problem was though that the Leshy had already set all of them off.

“Shit!”

Just so managed to duck under a swipe from a thick root-arm, almost face to face with the blank skull the creature wore as a mask. Started circling once more, angled his silver sword and heard the pounding of paws on the damp floor of the forest. By the ancestors, he should’ve listened to his Sol, she’d warned him off going alone.

The thundering of paws got louder, more imminent. He heard the snip of teeth not far, half behind him and half to his right. The wolf had to at least reach his hip in height, could not be more than two sword lengths away. And then he heard the song of a familiar blade.

“On your right!”

He concentrated on the Leshy.

Ignored the wolfs, their howls of pain. Concentrated fully on the creature before him, just now turning into a cloud of smoke, before manifesting again several feet away. Dodged branches, roots, severed an arm with his silver. Worry for safety, about the lack of traps for the other creatures of the forest gone, he single-mindedly pursued.

Just when the Leshy wanted to escape his reach once again, stepping back unsteadily, it was halted by a wall of fire. As such, he did not hesitate, spun on the spot once more, blade sliding through the creature’s body slanted. Only when it cracked into two parts, cleaved in two from middle to skull, Buccaneer allowed himself to look.

And felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips upon the sight of Olivier grinding simmering leaves under the heel of her boot. Before he could say something, she spoke up, clearly less than impressed.

“You’d have really died to some wolves, huh? Just wait until I tell master all about you not taking enough precautions when fighting a Leshy. He’ll have you run the trail again.”

It was easy to fall back.

“Rich coming from you, with clearly trying your best to burn the forest down. Still mean too well when using igni. Master will let you meditate in the snow to cool down your temper.”

It was even easier to step up, swords sheathed again, and take her hand. To pull her towards him for a half-hug and a clap on the back. Together they started to pick through the battlefield.

“Not that I’m not thankful for your help, but how are you here, how did you find me? Last I heard you were working in Kovir and Poviss.”

The wolves’ they left untouched; the forest would take care of their bodies. But Buccaneer made sure to pick up any piece of shelling from the Dimeritium Bombs, while Olivier was pocking through the Leshy’s remains.

“Use your head, of course Solaris teleported me in. Said that you’re ignoring her concerns about this contract you’ve taken on, to put it in very simple terms. Though nobody yet told me what your contract entails.”

He sighed, the fight with Solaris not sitting well with him. They did not usually mix their professions into their relationship, as far as possible separating it. Of course sometimes it came up, or professional opinions were exchanged, but that Solaris would butt in like that…

Olivier was turning the – now hollow – skull, while he remained on his haunches, thinking for a moment about how to put it best.

“The Jarl, Oddkell, sought me out in Larvik. Or rather sent his guards to get me to him, because he’s been needing help for some time it seems. He claims his clan has been cursed since before the past winter. Bad hunts, few fish, children being stillborn, freak accidents…”

She stopped her examination, looking him in the eye.

“That’s a whole lot for a single Leshy. Especially so if it affects the whole island. One village, sure, but all of Hindarsfjall? The whole clan?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m thinking the same thing. The Leshy’s just the first lead I had, the one thing I could follow.”

Their master had taught them both how to go about cases like that, had been a strict and thorough teacher. A Leshy was the keeper of the forest it lived in, not even an inherently bad creature. If you wanted to find out what was wrong in a region, a certain forest, the Leshy was the best lead to find things out.

“Solaris says you’ve gotten yourself into something far worse than advertised.”

He grumbled more than spoke.

“She so says. But when I asked her for details, an opinion, I got nothing more than her asking me to back off the contract. And you know I don’t like to distrust…”

“…but when a sorceress or mage tells you to back off a contract, it usually means they, or their guild, are involved.”

Silence between them for a few moments, Buccaneer stuffing the Dimeritium shelling into a pouch, while Olivier stood up, lifting the horned skull up with her, clearly intending to take it. Both of them not startled when Solaris stepped into the holt. Spoke, severely, without preamble.

“I am not involved with anything happening here!”

He saw, just by the way Olivier moved her eyebrows, that this would be his discussion.

“Then tell me what puts you on edge! You cannot just demand I step back from a contract, a lucrative contract too, without any reason!”

Their voices were loud in the forest.

“Of course, it’s always about money with you Witchers, I almost forgot! The evil magic wielders, they are the problem, they don’t share their knowledge, they don’t…”

Buccaneer spoke over her, felt the colour in his cheeks rising. Olivier would tease him, no doubt, but right now that wasn’t important.

“You are aware that this is our livelihood, yes? Or are you saying that you’d go out and risk your life in a fight against dangerous creatures for free? You don’t even hand out cough medicine for free! You have a problem with this contract, you spill the reason why!”

It was pure venom really, though he knew that their fights, if rare, tended to be vicious. The blonde close to them, having sat down on a big root, inspected her boots.

“Did you not yet notice the absence of all magic energy, did your medallion move once since you landed on the island?! Do you just not care that I am simply worried about you getting hurt while chasing this contract with no clear enemy, but a lot of suspicious things surrounding it?!”

Frustration, a hint of embarrassment, it all ran high in him.

“Of course I care Solaris, more than you’ll ever _believe_ I fear! But why not speak?!”

Olivier, inspecting a whole in her leather pants, was pointed at.

“Because I told you before Buccaneer, time and time again! And only now, with her here, you listen! I know that Witchers do not fully trust those that wield magic, but I thought us to be beyond that!”

Solaris gathering her skirts, walking away, while he just felt dumbstruck. Like an idiot standing there, in the middle of the forest, the pieces coming together a little bit more and starting to make sense. Before he could voice anything, Olivier dared to look up again.

He never understood how she, her transformation so different to the normal one he went through, turned out to be the much more un-emotional model-Witcher.

“Well, aren’t you a right idiot, huh? Why didn’t you two have an adult conversation about all this?”

Grasping for words for a few moments, for air, he felt like sinking into himself.

“She just showed up here, you know? I get the contract information, decide to sleep it over for a night and suddenly Solaris shows up on Hindarsfjall. I should’ve asked, yes, but with her being so vague, so adamant too…”

“You were suspicious?”

A shrug was his answer, while Olivier got to her feet. Gathered up the Leshy’s skull, kicked him in the boot to get him to move also. He followed without much thought, watched when she gathered up her things, stored about a hundred meters of walk from the scene of battle, tucked well away under a rock.

He and Solaris had been together for so many years now. It had been surprising to learn that the sorceress had taken an interest in him, very much so even. He’d only been on his own for a few years at that point, had not talked much, had been awkward. And while there’d been shifts in their relation, plenty and explosive at times, he was surprised by his own mistrust of her.

Never had she exploited her position when they were together, neither to force him into anything. She’d even been a great help, still was, the sole person he could always count on, if he did not count his fellow Witcher’s. When had he started to distrust her?

“I’m an idiot.”

Olivier was, as always, calm and straight to the point.

“Nice of you to notice. You know how we catch up to her? Think you two need to talk some more.”

Led the way at that, thinking all the way about what to say to Solaris, only to gape like a stupid fish when standing in front of her.

At least Olivier couldn’t howl with laughter, having wandered off to find some food.

* * *

For all of five seconds Scar thought that he’d seen small children eat more dignified than her, before the display really hit him.

The basted chicken legs ripped into by her teeth like she was starving, the strings of flesh juicy, dripping onto her bare torso. In no time the bone clean, her own lanky, calloused fingers dragging over her flesh, taking the marks of her messy eating with them. He almost chocked on his own food when lush lips licked the aforementioned fingers clean.

Settled on watching for now, the first part of her tale enthralling, but her fatigue, the hunger and thirst, soon becoming apparent. Gladly he’d called for food, wanting Olivier to be content, offering a morsel of information and gossip to the palace also. He was after all sure that her arrival, their subsequent sequestering in his rooms, was the hot topic right now.

With how she smiled at him when the thick juice of a melon-piece, cut up for convenience or not, spilled over her chin and onto her body, Scar knew that she more than just caught on to his interest.

He decided to bask in the anticipation a while longer.

“The two made up, from what I gather?”

It was marvellous how much she seemingly could eat without getting sick. Yet, she took his change of topic back to her tale with ease, messily eating more fruit, all the while sitting naked on is bed. By Ishvala, it was a sight Scar could get used to.

“Yes, they did. They talked it out, made up very loudly from what the tavern owner said, and we later discussed how to go on. There I took some time out of my day to berate Buccaneer for not noticing the lack of reaction from the medallion.”

It was a finely crafted piece, the shape that of a wolfs head. A stone used for the eyes Scar could not name, colour bouncing between red and yellow, depending on how the light hit it. He remembered how it had felt when still a lion, that the littlest touch of the silver against his fur had burned. Just to be sure he’d touched it when first undressing her, taken with how cool to the touch it now was. With how it rested against her chest, never taken off. How it moved against her skin, just the tiniest bit, when he’d cast a silent spell to call for the servants.

“You did not notice any reaction either?”

Her gaze was sharp, but her smile even more so. The short kick he received by a bare foot against his own bare chest.

“I was only on the island for a few hours at this point. Buccaneer had been on Hindarsfjall for over a week.”

His interest in the magical craftsmanship was only piqued a little, greatly diminished by another messily eaten piece of fruit.

“There must have been a strong suppressor spell at work then, to push down all magical auras that much. I’ve seen how fine-tuned your medallion is first-hand, it cannot easily be fooled.”

Betrayed his educated words only a little by moving to sit against her, plate of fruit empty and put to the side, while his finger already dragged over her skin.

“This is pretty much what Solaris said on the matter when we discussed how to go on. Which scared her so much too, because she is aware how powerful one must be for such a spell. We decided to be careful, me and Buccaneer searching for more physical signs of a curse, while Solaris went to gather information in her circles.”

Nodded at her words, though saw her eyes stray when he licked his own fingers clean. Fire in her eyes, a smile on her lips. She did not hesitate to bury her hands in his hair, lead his lips to where she wanted them.

“We can take a small break, don’t you think?”

It wasn’t a small break, but with it being dark out again after, the fire stocked and their bodies entwined, he still wanted to hear more of her story.

And she gladly told him.

* * *

“You’re taking a trophy?”

The blood seeped through the cloth she wrapped the fiends severed head in, though that did not stop her in any way.

“You said the Jarl will pay up when the curse is lifted and if these beast are connected to it, we should have prove of our work. And if they’re not, we’ll still have prove and something to haggle about. Also, I want to clean the skull, look if there’s…”

“Olivier, I really don’t think it’s a manmade sign on the Leshy’s skull. They constantly scratch ritualistic marks in those things, our Master has that one basically covered by it, remember?”

She gave Buccaneer one of her cutting gazes.

“I know that Buccaneer, I do. He never shuts up about it, as you very well know. _But_ I just want to make sure. Solaris said that whatever is supressing the magical auras of basically everything on Hindarsfjall needs pylons, things that uphold the supressing spell and spread it. What would be better than creatures, tucked well-away in the thicket of the forests?”

Heaved the head of the fiend up, it really had been of impressive size, busy with knotting it to the horse’s saddle for several minutes. The people of Lokvir had loaned them the sturdy animals for the time needed to complete the contract, a kind gesture and as she very well knew motivated by the knowledge that they just got rid of a dangerous Leshy so close to their village.

Buccaneer was cleaning up his sword meanwhile, size-wise fitting well with his bulky form, though Olivier knew full well that it would be too heavy and long for her. Still, she had looked closely how her fellow Witcher had circled the fiend, with dexterity sidestepping the heavy-set creature. His blade-work had been superb, so much that she burned some of the moves into her mind.

“I’m still not convinced about this supposed magic-suppression-field if I can be honest with you, Olivier. I trust Solaris when she says she’s not involved, but I would also not be surprised when she comes back in a day or two, telling us to stop our involvement with the contract fully. This whole thing stinks like only a sorcerer or sorceress experimenting for their little academy can.”

The horse was only whining a little under the weight of the creatures’ head, while Olivier spared a thought for her own horse. He’d be snorting loudly with discomfort and probably try to bite her. Or eat the corpse of the fiend on the forest floor. Was probably trying to bite the other horses he was stabled with in Pont Vanis. She’d have to pay the stable hands extra when she got back.

Spared a thought for Buccaneers words too, knew that the situation was heavy on his mind, even with fully trusting Solaris.

“Seems like too big a risk to me, the part with it being an experiment by the academy I mean. While you and Solaris were, “allowed herself to make a face, to cough a little in disgust, “ _making up_ , some of the women showed me around the village. Showed me calves born with two heads, a foal with no hind legs. I could go on and on. Told me of mishaps, missing people, disease. The academy is usually too smart to let that many people experience the consequences directly like that.”

Another grumble, though Buccaneer at least underlined it with the sound of his sword sliding back into its sheath.

“Still, wouldn’t put it past them. How would those pylon-things you talked about even work, what would they do?”

The leather of the saddles groaned when they got onto their horses, hers only whining a little louder in response to her added weight. Olivier mourned the lack of spunk, not even one healthy kick aimed anywhere when she nudged it to move.

“Magic is chaos energy at it’s roots, chaos that is harnessed by most magic wielders. Usually, when chaos is manipulated in any way shape or form and as such becoming less chaotic, our medallions would react. The field that is keeping them from it, is basically someone wielding raw chaos, not shaping it at all, just moving it like one would when, I dunno, shaking out a blanket.”

He listened closely.

“Those pylons, as Solaris called them, would be like someone standing in the middle of the blanket, shaking it too, so that the waves are even. And as our medallions don’t pick up on chaotic chaos, we’re basically flying blind. We didn’t feel anything with the Leshy close, nor with the Fiend. Hell, thinking about it I couldn’t even feel my medallion moving when stepping out of Solaris portal on this side.”

They left the smell of the Fiend behind, though it would take at least two hours of riding through the forest until they would reach the street and an hour more from there before they would be back in Larvik.

“I guess you were preoccupied with puking your guts out?”

She threw him a look that made his horse prance a little.

“Besides the point, but yes. What unsettles me, is that someone could be casting close by, right behind us, anywhere, and we’d only be able to notice it too late.”

Both of them giving their paranoia right of way for a moment, senses sharp and used to scan the area. Coming up with nothing more than a pack of wolves slowly moving toward the fiend’s corpse and several animals in the distance, likely deer.

“And how does this field interfere with the people here? How is it able to make people sick, ruin crops and everything else?”

Education on magic was toned down in all Witcher Schools, signs were taught and some theory, but not much more. Shuddered inwardly, when remembering who taught her and how. Why.

“The chaos as a form of energy usually lingers under the surface, though most often not in a literal way. But now it’s pulled taunt over this plane of existence and as it is, well, chaotic, it does the same to what it encounters. It’s, in a way, like the first trial. It breaks down things on a cellular level and then puts them together differently.”

Mentioning the trial was always painful, for all members of their guild. Yet Buccaneer clearly understood the analogy.

“And as it is chaos and as such chaotic, the results are less than stellar?”

Nodded affirmative, their ride continued in silence for a while, both mulling over some things it seemed to her. Tried to not get caught up in memories herself, always wanting to push up when these topics were breached. Buccaneer though, after a long while spoke up.

“Would there maybe be a way to find something akin to a centre for the chaos, a kind of focus point from where this exemplary blanket is rippled?”

Pulled out of her own mind that was turning gloomier by the minute, she brought her horse to a stop.

“Buccaneer, you are a damn genius!”

He looked at her with narrowed eyes.

“Now that’s something I never heard from you before.”

* * *

“So let me get this straight, you killed a Fiend, a second Leshy, a Cyclops, several packs of wolves and two polar bears while I’ve been gone? It’s been three days!”

Not that it wasn’t impressive, not that the look the two Witchers exchanged at that wasn’t funny, but it seemed excessive, even with their theory. Olivier, currently gorging herself on some of the bears meat the tavern owner’s wife had prepared, was the first to speak up.

She didn’t even react to her disgusted face, sadly always having been fond of talking while eating. That’s what one got for growing up in the middle of the boy’s club the Witcher’s guild was.

“It confirmed the pylon-theory you brought onto the table and is giving us lead towards the epicentre of it all. Buccaneer actually figured that out.”

Solaris had also learned early on that winging for one another was almost natural to them.

“I just ran with the theory and explanations of you two. With the help of the locals we found several places were not only fauna was severely impacted, but flora too. And as of now we always found creatures serving as pylons at these places. They all bear the mark on their skulls too, the one that Olivier originally found on the first Leshy.”

And talking about corpses and skulls and stripping things of flesh while eating too, that was one for the list. Solaris smiled though, nodded at Buccaneer.

In the three days that she’d been gone they’d found out far more than her by just moving over the island and combining their knowledge. She’d only learned that what was happening on Hindarsfjall right now was unknown at the academy and worried everybody greatly. To pull that much chaos from one plain to the other, maintaining it for that long, even with several pylon-creatures felled, spoke of a power far too great for a usual sorcerer or sorceress.

“It’s not my place to be, but I am extremely impressed with what you found out in a matter of days. The academy is still squabbling over who to send to investigate, because it quickly garnered status as a prestigious task once I gave my report of what is happening.”

There was a smirk on the blond’s face, plate razed and tankard almost emptied also.

“You’d think they’d hurry, with what the people had to endure already. You snuck away?”

She answered the smirk in kind.

“Teleported out after they started to fight again this morning. They do not see the pressing need that you two have uncovered. If the one right now wielding all this raw chaos loses control…”

Solaris did not need to spell it out for them. Buccaneer nudged her foot under the table with his own, voice almost soft. By the way the foam of the beer clung to his beard she decided that he really needed a shave.

“We have another lead we will travel to today; will you join us? It seems promising and we could use your help.”

Knew the last part to be true, was glad that they were still uninjured if she was honest, because they were basically fighting blind. No magical auras, no dodging magical projectiles at the last second. That they still had all their limbs was a small miracle.

Yet, she was also plainly aware that they together had come much farther than she had. But alas, they also weren’t busy with misplaced jealousy like she was.

“Of course I will, I promised to see this through with you until the end, haven’t I?”

Buccaneer and her both ignored Olivier acting like she had to barf.

* * *

“There’s really a lack of butts in this story, you know that?”

The shove he got was well deserved, though it did not do much to break their embrace. Ishvala be blessed for cold Ishvalan nights.

“I use it all the time to sit, or am I not? I told you beforehand, it’s mostly a story of Witchers being kind of bad at being Witchers.”

He pressed his lips to the lobe of her ear, squeezed a buttock, his beloved dent with the one hand that before had rested on her hip. Fiddled with his feet to produce the blanket he knew to be somewhere.

“And it is a very funny story to me, don’t worry. Though I don’t really see you being bad at what you do much.”

Her fingers, calloused and rough in just the right way, pushed into his chest. Blunt nails stinging a little but pulling him closer while her palms pushed him away. Her tone was one of disbelieve.

“We managed to not notice that magic detection was completely supressed all around us. We stumbled from rotten tree to withered crop-circle, trying to find the epicentre of this field of chaos energy. We could’ve made it collapse!”

Scar actually had to smile at that, though saw that he was just adding to her confusion.

“I know I sound pretentious now, but just by how different we perceive magic and its use in Ishval… there is a saying, you know?”

Eyebrows meeting over her nose she looked at him but underlined her request for him to say it with a small bite to his shoulder, the easiest part to reach.

“Tell me.”

“Ishvala planned even what does not seem in order. So do not hesitate, for there is a plan to everything made by Ishvala. And _everything_ is made by Ishvala.”

Silence befell her, though her puzzled look did not vanish. He laughed slightly, pulling her impossibly closer. After a few moments she spoke, though he was by now sure that her eyebrows would get stuck this way.

“So you’re basically saying that the chaos is that way by design and as such not chaotic at all? How would that have prevented the field collapsing and plunging that island in unwielded chaos? How does that fit in with the whole theory of chaos and order?”

“What you call chaos and order and we call Ishvala’s plan is, when not wielded, as it was made by Ishvala. So harmless and not something that needs to be kept behind a damn. The field collapsing on itself would at the epicentre, where wielded, led to a reaction, but everywhere else? It would’ve just gone back to being chaos, as you call it.”

Glad that her eyebrows were finally unclenching, he got a brilliant smile from her.

“This is fascinating, just so you know! Is that why your people are so much more adapt at using large quantities of magic without tiring? Not thinking of chaos as something to be wielded, but rather using it as a building part in a natural…”

Her lips soft and pliant against his, warm and still pulled into a smirk by his sudden assault. When breaking for air, squeezing her butt once more, he made his desire clear.

“I want to know more about your story! And about your butt!”

With a laugh, an eyeroll and a blanket drawn over them in parts, she complied.

* * *

“How would someone be able to have that much chaos under their control?! This is insane!”

Freya’s garden was a beautiful place, a structure covered in rare plants, tended to by the priestesses. Sigrdrifa had sent for them to come, having heard of what they’d been chasing after the past few days. Had told them, deeply troubled, about how Freya’s garden seemed to be rotting from the inside out.

“It must be several people, there is no other feasible way for this. Has a way down been mentioned, a cave maybe?”

Buccaneer was slowly working through the plants hanging like curtains from the arches overhead, in front of Solaris, sword drawn and ready to strike. Olivier behind them ready as well, her silver in her left and her right ready to grab whatever else could be needed from the rest of her gear on her back.

“There is one in the back of the garden that they mentioned. Over a piece of river they reigned in. It’s not deep, but as this is a ritualistic place nobody had been in there in weeks. And when the rot started Sigrdrifa came over from the Temple of Freya personally, to order the priestesses to leave.”

Olivier breathed out slowly, ears sharp and eyes darting around. There could be any kind of creature here, corrupted by the chaos all around. Saw how Solaris almost itched with feeling it, how Buccaneer was tense in front of them, not relaxing when the sound of running water drowned out some others.

“There are steppingstones.”

Moved over them, one after the other, eyes focused on the area around them. The unusual warmth to the air, the smell of the rotting plants, making it just that much harder to breath.

“No creatures it seems, nothing. No signs of people either. A bit of lifeless grass having been flattened by a boot, average size. There are only more people if they all have smaller feet than that and step into each other’s footprints.”

Buccaneer threw her a look at that.

“That would mean just one person wielding all of this.”

Solaris looking between them, all of them eyeing the dark entrance of the cave with caution, as well as the lifeless garden around them.

“That’s absolutely insane! There is nothing on my mind that could give someone that much power to wield this amount of chaos! That could only be achieved alone when…”

Even though she was concentrated on the task and didn’t say it aloud, she was quite sure that she’d never seen Solaris look so flabbergasted.

“There’s a Djinn in there!”

It took all she had to not loudly curse and give them away. Buccaneer, meanwhile, was unbelieving.

“You’re kidding, right? A Djinn is not chaos, it’s… different!”

Solaris spoke, while Olivier dropper her gear slowly and dug through it. Discarded her bow and arrows, her small crossbow too. Searched through the small, painted box with the bottles, searching for the right things.

“It’s not often that someone manages to harness the power of a Djinn, but many try. And the person in there tried its darndest to get it under control and prepared very well it seems. The signs in the creature’s skulls, the net of untamed chaos over the island, supressing all auras. It would weaken a Djinn and make the capture easier!”

A big hand Buccaneer dragged through his own hair, while now also searching for certain bottles on his belt. Solaris looking between them, aghast.

“What are you doing?”

Olivier was straight to the point, though could not think of any creature she would rather not face if forced between a Djinn and it.

“We’re getting ready. Something to see in the darkness of the cave, something else to make us faster. To not let us bleed so easily. Here Buccaneer, oil for your blade, could be helpful. In which order should we attack?”

Knocked back the bottle of cat right after finishing her questions, Solaris staring at the way her pupils widened in response almost immediately. Buccaneer behind her did the same. The indecision in tense shoulders was there only for a moment, then the sorceress spoke up.

“The Djinn must be the first to fall under these circumstances, it will be in battle with whoever is trying to bind it to themselves and as such be distracted to an extent. I can not help you two with that, a Djinn…”

Buccaneers voice always got raspy after a potion, a weird thing she’d noticed so many years ago for the first time and was even weirder to remember now.

“Is immune to most magic if I recall? Will we need to be careful on the signs?”

Memories of dusty books welled up, of the sun shining on her back through the window of the tower.

“No aard, no igni. We can try yrden, axii too, but it will not be much help. Djinn get more dangerous the weaker they become.”

Got up again, checked the buckles of her armour, unsheathed her silver and coated it with the oil Buccaneer handed back to her. Stuffed her belt-pouches with a few more potions, hoping that she wouldn’t need them. Decided to leave the rest of her gear here at the entrance, even though the voice of her Master in the back of her mind chided her for not properly securing it.

Shook the thought away just in time for important words from Solaris.

“I’ll take on the one who is trying to harness the Djinn, so you two can concentrate on it fully. And no, “Solaris held up a hand to Buccaneer, who opened his mouth to speak with an unreadable expression, “I will not wait here, or anywhere else. I’ll have your backs and try to bring the field down gently when the connection between the Djinn and its wannabe-master is broken.”

Few more words exchanged after that, their track into the cave slow and careful.

For several moments them all captivated by the sight that was a weakly glowing orb suspended in the air, right in the middle of the cave. The cloud of unformed smoke that was the Djinn moving within it frantically yet giving off an otherworldly feel at the same time. A man kneeling in front of the orb, torso bare, with ink the mark of a bottle drawn onto his stomach.

He looked pale, worn out and thin and when Olivier though about how long that must be going on, she could understand why. Knew, that this mage’s power must be immense to have held out for so long.

They were noted when Solaris lowly began to murmur her first spell, slinking away from them and closer to the mage with a concentrated expression. The glowing orb around the Djinn breaking apart, stretching almost, Buccaneer and her just so able to duck out of the way when it attacked them.

The silent cave erupted with the sound of howling winds, making it impossible to hear her own steps, the incantation the still kneeling mage was shouting, the words leaving Buccaneers mouth in what she was sure was a yell. Tuning out her overwhelmed sense of hearing she concentrated on the task at hand.

Side-stepped out of the way when the Djinn brazenly tried to attack her directly, the silver slicing through the dark cloud not making it bleed but leaving a trail of lightning in its wake. Buccaneer slicing through it from the other side, the tip parting the darkness for a moment, before a bigger bolt of lightening and the following wave of pressure threw them both back.

The air elemental finding its strength and dexterity again it seemed, after being confined in this battle with the mage for so long, coming for them faster, forcing them to dodge. Barely Olivier could fend an attack of with a twirl on the spot, blade protecting her body and its sharpness keeping the Djinn away. Buccaneer trying to use the preoccupation with her as an opening, instead his blade hit by a jolt of lightening, the shock running through his body.

Solaris in the corner of her eyes, gesturing at her, almost shooing her away. Buccaneer leaning heavily against the wall of the cave, blade blackened, bend. Her instincts told her what to do.

With three large steps and jumping over a small wall of rock she was on her way to the entrance of the cave. Did not look around to stare at the lightening thrown at where her feet had been a second ago, but rested in the knowledge that the creature pursued her, also wanted her incapacitated or dead before taking care of the others once and for all. Using the bend in the entrance as momentary cover, she managed to almost tumble out of the cave.

The world unnaturally bright because of one potion, everything except for the Djinn moving unnaturally slow because of another. Dead leaves swirling around her when the Djinn unleashed another strong bout of winds, obscuring her vision. She ducked low on instinct, heard the crack of another lightening bolt. Evaded again, luring the elemental further from the entrance of the cave, the thing she’d hoped for finally happening.

Almost invisible to the eye in this brightness the golden orb, the Djinn’s manmade cage, shimmering. It had left the widened boundary, was limited in its movements. She though, was not.

Twirled past it, deflected dark tendrils of smoke reaching for her. Could pass the barrier, noted when the creature’s movements became less fast, when it had to fight to reach her. Enraged, clearly, by how persistently she evaded. The pattern burned herself into her mind in several short moments.

Moved into the barrier again, stayed as close to the Djinn as she could, the tip of her silver slicing here and there, though never biting deep. And when she saw the thundering in dark smoke, knew that lightning was coming once more, she moved out of the way just so. Felt the heat and static tingle dangerously close to her back, though did not think.

Just turned, sword risen and the point sinking into the darkness that was the Djinn’s formless body. The wind picking up, leaves rushing through the air and the sound of storm for many moments loud in her ears, she watched with fascination how the darkness fell in on itself, how the wind seemed to be sucked through the darkness, all sound.

Heard branches break, the stone of the garden’s arches rattle, even heard how her gear, her little packs of leather, were thrown around. And only when she felt three thuds, pain exploding, the words of her master were in the back of her mind again.

_You always must secure your unneeded gear before going into a fight kiddo, you never know who will make use of it otherwise._

She hoped that she could tell him to add _“Or what”_ to his little saying.

* * *

“Pretty.”

The mark on her shoulder tiny, he’d only have found it with better lighting had she not pointed it out to him in the darkness.

“It’s the mark on an arrow getting stuck in my shoulder blade. I don’t know what’s pretty about that?”

He smirked, though with her backside to him right now knew full well that she couldn’t see it. But he was sure that she could hear it, feel it when he pressed a kiss to the tiny scar.

“It’s pretty that you’re not dead, that you survived a fight with a Djinn. That I have you here, gorgeous and ethereal.”

She scoffed, but his searching fingertips were still guided by her hands, pointing to a slightly bigger scar beneath her ribcage, right next to her spine. He knew that it had a bigger twin on her stomach.

“Is that one pretty too?”

Turned to him, challenge in her eyes.

“Yes, but more so lucky. A finger-width to either side and you’d have died. Broadhead point?”

Rested one hand against the small scar at her back, encircled her with the other, second hand on its twin. Rested his head on her shoulder, breathed her in, here, with him. Scar was well aware that all of this happened before he ever knew her and yet was eternally glad for the chance to even get to know her.

Her voice was calm, even, not bothered by the mortal danger it seemed. Or maybe it was a constant.

“Yes and yes. Missed anything vital just so, only ripped the skin when bursting out. Buccaneer still claims that his ancestors let him be hit by the lightening bolt of a Djinn, just so they could prevent me from dying that day.”

Swayed with her on the bed, both kneeling, blanket having pooled around them. He’d wanted to see for himself when hearing of the three arrows having pierced her, not just one.

“I take it he recovered?”

Her hair tickling where it moved against his body, the light kiss to his chin putting his worry for this man he didn’t even know to rest.

“He was a bit off for a few days, but the priestesses at the temple of Freya, as well as his beloved Solaris, cared well for him. He has a lightning-scar, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one, that all the other Witchers are very jealous off.”

The chuckle would not be supressed.

“You Witcher’s are a weird lot, do you know that?”

Her hand swatting at one of his, though keeping it in place right after. The morning dawning far away, the fire close by having died down during the night, the air warming up again already.

“We are aware, or rather have been told often enough. Solaris managed to bring the field down without a hitch and somehow even managed to keep the sorcerer who did it alive. It’s only hearsay, because I was pretty out of it, but as she told me they’d barely gotten him out of Freya’s garden when the Brotherhood of Sorcerers showed up with a small team.”

“You ever learned who it was?”

Shook her head against his, though he felt that the question did not weigh on her mind either.

“I could describe him, but I don’t think it would change anything. Solaris said that he’s under arrest, that they’d been searching for long. Some sorcerer or sorceress is always planning a coup, it’s too much to keep up with. Buccaneer was paid handsomely; gave me a generous cut and I spent a few weeks on my stomach before getting back to the mainland. By boat, mind you.”

He swayed a little more with her, with her tale coming to its end. Though he did not stop his wandering hands, fingers brushing over his beloved dent.

“And this one is number three then? The third arrow that pierced you?”

She just like that let herself fall onto the bed again, laying on her stomach, turning her head to look up at him. It was a most pleasant view and the best position to lay down again also, to rest his head as close to the centre of their conversation again as he could.

“My own arrow piercing my butt, and of course the only one with the wide grabbing point. The very same I still use to hunt by the way, because I really don’t carry my bow around for much else. You’ve eaten game I caught with this very arrow.”

The shudder running down her spine when he dragged his fingers over the scar was enticing.

“Weird, but I’m getting used to that. Being a lion for seven years kind of opens your mind.”

Bit her once more, softly, her laughter even better than her shudders. Evaded the hand swatting at him to stop, laughed himself.

“I think it just gave you a tendency to bite!”

“I have to match your howl, you she-wolf!”

Fingers dug into his hair, a hand into the muscle of his upper arm and he let himself be pulled without resisting, rather laughed some more. Sunk fingers into the pliant flesh of her dented ass and sought out her scarred skin with his other hand. Laughed all the while, she too, lion and wolf for a while fighting about who would come out on top. Which would be both of them of course, Scar knew, one after the other. And in the end, they’d lie next to each other again.

Perfectly content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *finger arrows*

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> If there is any special character or situation you want to see, drop me a note.


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